


Rebel Girls

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Humanstuck, Riot Grrrl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kanaya has daddy issues and starts mixing with a different crowd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and the past month has been…well, strange, to say the least.

You’ve just started college on a scholarship and your parents couldn’t be more proud. (You think you’ll wait to tell them you’re majoring in fashion design instead of something they would consider practical.) You ended up pretty far from home, so you were surprised to be found by an estranged cousin.

Porrim was intimidating at first, especially with her tattoos, but she was friendly enough. She was intelligent too, intelligent enough to win her own scholarship. You wondered what your family thought was so bad about her.

One day you found out exactly what. She took you to a concert featuring a local band one of her friends played in. She told you it was a feminist all-girl punk rock band that couldn’t decide on a name and did mostly covers anyway. You were certainly curious enough to go without much hesitation. The scene was pretty much the opposite of what you were accustomed to.

The venue was dark and shabby. It was one of those places with rebellion in the air, that people like you tend to avoid under normal circumstances. Porrim introduced you to some of her friends in the crowd before the show started. It seemed like there weren’t even any men there at all. You were offered beer twice and cigarettes thrice and you denied them all. You were only eighteen, which was too young to drink, and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself choking on your first cigarette in front of a bunch of strangers.

You felt uncomfortable there. Everyone seemed nice enough, and you trusted Porrim not to take you somewhere dangerous. But you were out of place. In high school you were always the Good Girl from the Christian Family who had a stick up her ass.

But the thing is that reputation made you uncomfortable too.

When the show started, you relaxed somewhat. Everyone else seemed to know every song, but you had never heard any of them. You listened carefully. You weren’t quite sure what you thought about it. You did like the messages though, but occasionally you’d hear a lyric and wonder what your parents would think.

Afterwards, your cousin pulled you along to introduce you to the band. There were only three of them, the bare minimum you’d need for a rock band.

There was Latula, the lead singer and guitarist. She was pretty loud and apparently pretty rad. She greeted Porrim with a high five and a shout.

Then there was Meenah, the bass player. She looked the most like a rock star out of any of the band, with two long braids falling down her back and studded bracelets decorating her wrists.

As they fell into conversation with your cousin/escort, they left you to try to make conversation with the third and final band member.

Rose, the drummer, seemed to be the quiet one of the group, or at least the calm one. She twirled her drumsticks idly in her hands as you introduced yourself. It surprised you when she held out her hand to shake yours. Not that anyone you met that night was rude, but Rose was exceptionally polite.

You learned she was a few months older than you and she went to the same college as you. She was majoring in psychology, which would explain why you didn’t recognize her from around campus.

You told her she didn’t seem much like the type to join a rock band. She said music is really more of a hobby for her, but the feminist movement is something she’s passionate about.

You wanted to hear more, but then it was time for you and Porrim to go.

That night was about three weeks ago. In that time, you’ve been to a few more shows and talked with Porrim a little more about the messages the band is trying to send. You’ve seen Rose around on campus too. A few times you had a chance to stop and chat with her, and you learned a few more things about her. She has a brother named Dave. She likes knitting and writing. She’s fascinated by dark magic, though she doesn’t believe in it.

And she’s devastatingly attractive.

For you, this is uncharted territory. You never really dated before. Nobody really wanted to date you either, save one person you turned down because A. he’s repulsive and B. he only asked you out because he was desperate. (And he stole your first kiss too, the douche. You never counted it though, because you pulled away immediately.)

You didn’t get crushes a lot either. You’ve honestly had about three crushes in your entire life before now. They weren’t the only people you’ve ever found physically attractive, but they were the only ones you considered as potential dates.

It’s just that all three of them were male. Rose is female. One, it’s very likely that she doesn’t (and would never) return your feelings. She may even be completely repulsed. And two, what would your parents say? They would probably disown you for being attracted to women, even if it’s really just one.

Then again, a lot of the things Porrim, Rose, and the rest of the band advocate directly challenge your parents’ beliefs and even some things you’ve just never questioned, and you’ve found yourself on their side. Why is it a bad thing for a woman to explore her sexuality? Why is it bad for a woman to be sexual at all? But on the other side of the coin, apparently it’s a bad thing if a woman isn’t sexual at all?

It’s hypocritical. Frankly, it pisses you off; but when you think about that, you’re not sure if your attraction to Rose is genuine or just a manifestation of some newfound Daddy Issues or something. You’re not even sure if this is a rational train of thought or if Rose’s psychoanalyzing tendencies have rubbed off on you.

You’re so confused. You don’t know how to deal with this or who to ask for advice.

You just try to clear your head of these thoughts when you hear their subject calling your name.

You pause and step to the side to let people pass as you look around. It doesn’t take long to spot Rose’s white blond hair shining in the light as she approaches. You send her a wave and a smile and meet her halfway.

“Hey, I was just on my way to lunch. Care to join me?” she asks, shifting the messenger bag on her shoulder. You accept her invitation, and she flashes you a smile brighter than you thought she was capable of.

Conversation doesn’t flow as easily as you hope though. You barely talk at all as you make your way to the student union. You can’t really talk as you go for Chinese and she grabs a salad, and you’re waiting in separate lines. By the time you’ve paid, she’s already waiting for you at a table for two nearby.

She asks when your next class is. You say you have English composition at three. That’s when you discover she has the same class, same professor, but at a different time.

And she hates it almost as much as you do.

You bond over your contempt for the professor and the subject, and it’s a pretty effective icebreaker. Rose has the class first thing in the morning, and you discover the professor is always fifteen minutes late with Starbucks.

“That doesn’t surprise me. She puts on this image of a brilliant author who just isn’t recognized. She is literally a stereotype.”

“I doubt she’s finished a single work, let alone published one.”

“She takes two weeks to grade a bit of homework, imagine how long it would take her to write an article.”

Once you get started, talking with Rose is so easy. She’s sarcastic and funny and so so smart and it intimidates you, but somehow you also feel comfortable around her.

You realize you’re completely screwed. You’re head over heels for this girl and you don’t know what to do because you can’t just tell her.

The conversation somehow shifts to how opinionated your professor is, and how she told Rose her feminist interpretation of a short story was wrong.

“For someone who claims to be so liberal, she’s actually very conservative and even intolerant.” Here she stabs a cherry tomato on the end of her fork with a bit more force than is really necessary. “I compared the woman in that short story to Hester Prynne in an essay, and you know she had the nerve to say they couldn’t be compared because Hester brought her suffering on herself?”

You remembered the assignment well. The story you read was about a woman who was assaulted and then shamed, and the essay question was to explore one of the themes. Your eyes widened at the idea that anyone could deserve that kind of treatment.

Rose seemed to understand your lack of response besides the widening of your eyes was, in fact, your response. “I find it hard to believe anyone still has such medieval opinions,” she said, popping her cherry tomato in her mouth.

“My parents probably do,” you admitted with a grimace. “They have a pretty old-fashioned view of anything related to sex.”

You expect her to be surprised, but her nod is more understanding. You remember she seems to know Porrim. Her silence prompts you to continue.

“It gets uncomfortable sometimes.” You didn’t think about what you were saying until it was all out of your mouth, but you realized it was true. “I never felt comfortable about sexuality, or my own independence. It’s…”

You cut yourself off with a sigh. You don’t know where you were going with that. Rose remains silent.

You wonder if she would encourage you to explore your sexuality. You wonder if she would take a hands-on approach. The thought makes you blush and look down at your food. You’ve only eaten about three fourths of it, but you don’t think you can eat another bite.

“Maybe you could debate with them and convince them otherwise,” she finally responds, and you look up to listen. “Maybe you could at least assert yourself and feel more comfortable when you stop hiding things.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You doubt it would go over well, but maybe Rose is on to something. You can’t just deny everything forever, after all.

There’s another awkward pause in the conversation, and you start to wonder why you always seem to mess it up. Then she checks the time and says she has to go soon. She stands and picks up her paper and plastic dishes, and hesitates. “Are you coming to tonight’s show?”

Is it just you, or does she look a little hopeful? “I didn’t know there was one tonight. Is it the same time as usual?”

She nods, and then you do too. “I can be there.”

Her smile makes your chest tighten up. “I’ll see you tonight then,” she says, before turning to go. You watch her until she’s out of your line of sight.

The rest of the day can’t pass quickly enough.

You don’t call up Porrim to see if she’s going to the show too. It doesn’t even cross your mind to bring anyone else. The only thing you can think of is watching the band, watching Rose. And, of course, looking your best.

When you finally arrive on the scene, you look like you belong there. You realize you feel like you belong there. Even if you don’t drink and smoke with the other women, you’ve been around this crowd long enough that it feels right.

You’re still not into the music. The message though, is just as strong as ever. You wonder if maybe Rose had any influence over the set list; it feels like a lot of tonight’s songs are about sex and sexuality.

At the end of the hour, as usual you thread through the crowd to greet the band. You think Rose wanted you to. Besides, you’d like Rose to know you came.

Latula and Meenah are taking their guitar cases outside when you reach them, but Rose notices you. She smiles again, and you feel the same tightness in your chest as before when you smile back. You feel strangely confident as you approach.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“You were great, as usual.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you could make it.”

And then she places a hand on your shoulder and a kiss on your cheek.

Your shock must register on your face, because she seems to tense up. She lets out a soft ‘oh’ and it’s too dark to see properly, but you could swear she blushes. You realize you’ve been silent a few moments too long when she starts to say “I’m sorry, I thought…”

As her hand slips off your shoulder, you catch her wrist and she falls silent. You lace your fingers together before you really think about it. “No, you thought right,” you admit.

Thoughts of ‘What the hell am I doing’ and ‘What would mom and dad say’ and ‘What the HELL am I doing’ stop you from going any farther than that. At the same time, you can’t deny how you feel, how you’ve been feeling. It’s nice to express that.

You expect Rose to pull away at any moment. She doesn’t. On the contrary, she leans forward. She moves so slowly that you don’t realize at first. You shift slightly closer too, and she takes that as permission to close the distance between you.

She’s kissing you. Oh god, she’s kissing you. You’ve never been kissed, not like this. You kiss her back uncertainly. Mostly you just mimic her. It’s not the physical sensation that feels great, but the meaning behind it.

You break apart from her with a smile. She’s smiling too. You remember your parents again, but you push the doubts away.

You think you’ll pick Rose and this feeling over just about anything.


	2. Chapter 2

You think you like your pixie cut more than you ever liked your longer hairstyles. Not that there’s anything wrong with long hair, you just don’t feel like it suits you as much. Besides, short hair is so much easier to take care of. And when Rose’s fingers are on the back of your neck and your hair isn’t in the way…it’s nice.

You’ve been thinking of dyeing it too, but summer break is coming up soon. You don’t want to shock your parents too much. They’ve only just become comfortable with the idea of you studying fashion design. You also still need to tell them who Rose actually is.

After days of going back and forth on the decision, you invite Rose over to spend the first week of summer vacation at your home with you. You’ll be taking a few summer classes at the local community college out of the way and she’s got a summer job in her own hometown, so you’ll be separated then. But you decide you could use her company and support for the conversation you need to have.

She’s been understanding and truly gracious, more so than you think you deserve. When the two of you step into the foyer of your parents’ home, nothing she says or does suggests anything more than a close friendship. Rose deserves someone who can be open about their feelings and relationships, you think. Her presence is a constant reminder of what you have to do.

The first night though, you simply rest after your long drive and chat with your family. You try to enjoy it as your parents get to know your new friend, before you have to disturb the peace.

“So, Rose, you’re majoring in psychology, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m considering picking up a minor in French as well, and in the fall I’m applying for an internship. Depending on if I get that and how well that goes, I may go on to get a Ph.D. in clinical psychology.”

“How did you and Kanaya meet?”

“She was at one of my band’s concerts. It’s only a hobby, but it’s an interesting way to make friends.”

As she answers more of your parents’ questions, you try to read them. You thought about telling them you’re not straight and waiting until they absorbed that news to tell them Rose is your girlfriend. You think they’d put two and two together first though, so it probably depends on how the conversation goes. At least they seem to have a good opinion of her. Her ambition seems to impress your father, and her eloquence seems to impress your mother.

That night, after the dishes have been cleaned and the evening news has covered all the good stuff, you feel a little better about this conversation. You feel a lot better when you and Rose retreat to your room and finally get some privacy.

You close the door behind you and then turn to her. She’s looking around curiously, though you think she’s trying to be respectful about it. “Make yourself at home,” you say, sitting on the bed. The softness of it catches you off guard a little bit. You’re used to the hard mattress provided by the dorm underneath a simple foam pad.

Rather than combing through all of your belongings (or the ones you didn’t take to your dorm with you, anyway; the stuff you did take is still in boxes in the corner), Rose decides to sit down next to you. “Are you tired at all?” she asks.

“No, are you?” She shakes her head. That doesn’t surprise you, since you each took turns driving her car and sleeping. “So, what would you like to do?”

She presses her lips together and looks to her right, then back at you out of the corner of her eye. “I can think of a few things.”

“Oh, I bet you can,” you say. You raise an eyebrow at her, daring her to act on her words. She crawls over to you then, closing the distance. On her knees she’s taller than you, which gives her the perfect angle to control the kiss. You tease her though, pulling back when she pushes forward, closing your mouth so all she can taste is your smirk.

You only start to respond how she wants when she almost gives up. For a moment only the tips of your tongues touch, then you stroke along the back of her teeth and the inside of her cheek. Trying to take control again, Rose pushes you onto your back. The springs creak loudly enough to remind you where you are.

You break the kiss, but Rose only nuzzles along your jawline. “My parents’ room is just on the other side of this wall,” you whisper, your hand brushing the wall next to you.

She hums and pulls up to whisper in your ear, “Can you keep quiet?” Her breath on your ear makes you shudder. When you don’t answer, she bows her head so her breath hits your neck, where she knows it turns you on.

“Christ.” She pulls back smirking, but adopts a more serious expression when she sees your face.

“Honestly, do you want to stop?” Her eyes flick between yours, trying to gauge your emotions. You’re trying to figure out which is stronger: the urge to fool around with your girlfriend as you haven’t had a chance to since before finals, or the fear that your parents will hear if you do.

Your libido wins out over your logic. You shake your head, and you try to say “no” but it comes out as more of a breath than a word. You lean up to kiss her again, but she has other plans. She trails kisses down your collarbone, and down further, and you spend the rest of the night trying to keep silent.

In the morning, you’re the first to wake up. Neither of you are wearing pants, and you can feel Rose’s prickly legs against your smooth ones; she didn’t have the time to spare for shaving during finals week, not that you mind. For a while you just lay like that, listening to her breath and feeling her legs against yours.

When it starts to get creepy, you decide you may as well go shower. It takes you a few minutes of trying to move boxes quietly so you don’t wake Rose, but you find the box with your summer clothes and grab an outfit.

Fifteen minutes later, you’ve showered and dressed and fixed your hair. You smile at your pixie cut again; you still really love how easy it is to do each day. You decide to skip the makeup until and unless you decide to go out later.

You see that your father has already left for work when you get downstairs. Your mother is in the kitchen, filling up a watering can with tap water. You exchange good mornings, and she waters the plants as you stick a pair of frozen waffles in the toaster.

“Your freshman year went pretty well, didn’t it?” she asks you as she waters the plants on the windowsill.

You smile. “Yes, it did. I got good grades and most of my core requirements finished. I’ll get the rest this summer.”

She nods appreciatively. You think she remembers you telling her that. “And you’ve met a lot of new people?”

“Oh, yes.” You think of all your new friends fondly. Rose, of course, then there’s Jade, Dave, and John, Porrim, Rose’s band, Rose’s band’s gang, and the rich kid clique from Modern American History (the heiress to Crocker Corp, a girl genius, and a pair of dudes who were probably a couple).

“Any nice boys?” she asks, with that hint of teasing in her tone you hear whenever a relative asks about boyfriends.

Your waffles pop out of the toaster, and you occupy yourself with getting them out. What should you say to that, honestly? You’d rather wait until the end of the week to say anything, in case they want to throw Rose out, but are you going to get a better opportunity to say what you need to say?

Should you lie, or come out? You spend a moment too long dwelling on it. Your mother is looking at you expectantly, and she’d know you’re lying if you denied it now. “Not any boys, no,” you say, looking down at your plate. “But I have met some girls.”

Your mother doesn’t say anything. Neither do your waffles. Not that you expect them to, but you can’t bring yourself to look at your mother. You think of fetching the butter and syrup, but you’re not all that hungry anymore.

You think an entire minute passes. The world hasn’t ended or anything, you realize. She hasn’t even started yelling. You find the courage to glance at her. She’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite read. All you can tell for sure is it’s either confusion or disgust. The idea of the latter makes you flinch and look down at your breakfast again. You’re definitely not hungry anymore.

“Kanaya,” she says finally, and you’re a little relieved to hear that her voice is gentle, “are you saying you’re a lesbian?”

“Bisexual,” you say, and it sounds defensive to your ears. You already want to cry. It’s not something that you should have to defend. On that note, you shouldn’t have felt scared to say it and you shouldn’t be upset now. That surge of annoyance is what keeps you from backpedaling.

In fact, that surge of annoyance gives you the courage to say a few more things. “It’s not something I chose, Mom. It’s something I realized over the past year. I’ve always felt this way; it’s just never been obvious.”

She sighs, and you watch her. She just looks so disappointed. You look back at your breakfast and unconsciously mimic her, and you try to stay calm.

After a moment, you hear your mother’s gentle voice again. “You know I love you no matter what, right?”

You don’t realize she’s right next to you until she places her hand on your back, between your shoulders. You nod, and you do start to tear up. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block the tears, but they’re still wet when you open them and look up at your mom.

As soon as she sees your face, she pulls you into a hug. You finally relax as you hug her back. She’s not going to yell at you. She’s not going to disown you. She won’t even hate you.

You hold each other for a long time. Your waffles are probably cold by the time you pull away. You poke them just to make sure, and yeah, they are.

“I just have one question,” she says, and her tone lets you know it’s safe to look up at her. She lowers her voice a little before asking. “Are you and Rose really just friends?”

You feel a blush rising in your cheeks, even though you thought this might happen. You shake your head and turn your attention back to the issue of your lukewarm waffles. Luckily, your mom doesn’t say anything else about it.

Thirty seconds later, your waffles are out of the microwave and your mother moves on to water the flowers outside. A minute or so after that, Rose enters the kitchen looking slightly uncertain until she spots you at the table. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” You set down your knife and fork and prepare to move. “Would you like some breakfast?”

She makes her way over to the island and grabs an orange from the bowl in the middle. “I eat lightly in the mornings. Just this is fine.” She sits next to you and starts peeling it with nothing but her fingernails.

You take another bite of your own breakfast as Rose silently prepares her own. Since neither of you have anything else to day, you can’t think of a better time to break the news. “So, I just told Mom about us,” you say, trying to keep a casual tone.

Rose raises her eyebrows, but she follows your lead in treating the situation casually. “How did that go?”

“Not nearly as disastrous as it had the potential to be.” She gives you a small smile, then an expectant look. “She said she loves me no matter what. She didn’t say anything besides that, but honestly it’s the best I could have hoped for.”

Her smile begins to look a little forced, but you’re grateful for it. Even though you have your mother’s love, you’re not sure if you have her support. You’re so, so glad to have both from Rose.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone requested a sequel like six months after the original. So, next chapter doesn't read a lot like this.


End file.
